The Last Sunrise
by topsell
Summary: Spike has just gotten his soul back, but without any support he's been living alone in the dark, refusing to feed. What happens when an accident with Xander forces him to give up sobriety to save the boys life? AU: Buffy S7/Angel S4. Vamp!Xander. LONG FIC
1. Chapter 1: A Prelude

**Title**: The Last Sunrise  
**Author**: Bellskie  
**Disclaimer**: Now, if I owned these characters in any way, shape or form, do you think that I'd be posting on ? Now honestly…I'm not even bothering posting this rubbish on more than the first chap.  
**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:  
Newly en-souled, Spike is at his most vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone an din the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animals blood, and living by himself in his rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

Through a series of…rather unfortunate events, Xander is a bit on the homeless side. Jobless too! Living at Giles place is getting past tedious. Still, it's not as though there's much choice. The young man has become a bit withdrawn himself and feeling like the most useless member of the Scooby gang.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you like to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!  
**Reviews**: May I has?

**Authors Notes**: This is written in between Season 6 and 7 of Buffy. Though, Spike is fully ensouled. Regardless of his soul -- which I'd consider "new-ish" I don't consider Buffy a major factor in this fan fiction. She will show up, but she is not with Spike. Spike, newly ensouled, has been fully rejected by the slayer. That is said; that is done.

Oh yes, and I hate Riley so he never existed. Not now. Not ever. Don't mention her. Same with the final season Big Bad. I'm not getting into actual story-line series plot-work.

**Beta Reading**: I'm new to fan but I always appreciate a good critique! No worries about hurting my feelings, but please no flaming. Honestly now, there's no place for mindless snarking….well, that's not true, but let's keep it at a minimum, shall we?

**A Prelude  
**

***

"You ever get the feeling that you're support to be doing something else?" he said, half drawling over the bar counter, searching for some approval from the tender. Willy fidgeted nervously, never looking directly at the young man. "I mean," Xander began again, "It's not like I'm doing so hot here right now. Look at them all. They've all got their magic and their slaying and their…books!

"Where are my things!" he took another drink of his beer and tried to set it down on the table. It fell from his fingers, a small puddle welling on the counter and dripping onto his lap. "God," he jumped up, wiping frantically at his pants.

For the first time, Willy looked up at the boy and half-grinned.

"Ya know what your problem is?" he said, trying to draw the grin away, "You're talking about being all important to that slayer, when that's not what you should be doing at all. Ever think that."

"Um, yea! That's kind of what I've been saying. You really haven't been listening."

Willy threw a cloth at the counter, raising an eyebrow as though he expected the spill to clean itself up. When it didn't, he began soaking up the beer, licking his fingers when he could. "Well of course I wasn't listening, but that's not exactly what I'm saying to ya. Sure, ya can say it's all about finding your place, but that's not your issue here. It's with that whole group. You're all on learning where your place is in that whole mess when you've spent, what -- how long doing that crap. It's time you realized what you need is a new hobby, maybe a goal or two."

Xander straightened up, staring down at Willy. "That's just…you know what, you're wrong."

"Well then you keep doing whatever it is you're doing because it seems to be working perfectly. Ya know, you in the bar every single--"

Xander grabbed his jacket and, with steps a bit unsure from drinking so much, pushed through a small crowd of helter sprites, left.

"And that's why I don't even try most days." He said, wiping the counter down.

***

He stood at the far side of the dank room, his silhouette thin, hunched over. He propped against the wall of the crypt, running his fingers along the stone in an absent manner. A bottle dangled from his other hand, the liquid in it sloshing as the vampire swayed. Rocking methodically, he swayed to a song, one he cooed beneath his breath.

The bottle dropped. The bottle shattered and the liquid jumped up to lick the vampires' jeans.

Swearing, he stopped the song and moved across the room, moved as though he were too light, too weak for the motion. When he reached the couch -- liberated some time ago from the Sunnydale dump -- he all but collapsed.

The blond in his hair was gone, grown away and cut out when it got too matted to just ignore. The clothing he wore was beyond use, tattered as though there were no point in wearing anything new…or clean for that matter. What did it matter when there was nobody else to see you.

With a sigh, Spike stretched himself across the paisley-patterned sofa and closed his eyes.

***

Xander moved, stumbling forward with a drunken grace only inherent to those of absolute intoxication. The graveyard was an old time favorite as far as shortcuts went. Sunnydale's finest didn't exactly do wonders enforcing the "Do Not Enter After Dusk" rule.

"Where does he get off, telling me that I should make my own goals in life. Come on, it's not like I need goals to get anywhere! It's not--"

He fell, dropped flat on his face over a gravestone.

Looking in absolute horror, he stared back at the granite pillar. "Oh that's great, big funny Xander. Always getting caught and messing up and, and tripping!" his voice cracked.

"Amusing enough for me." A voice growled, and something grabbed at his ankle, something from beneath the grave marker. The hand protruded from the grave, followed by a face grinning so wide it almost covered up the bumpy facial features. The suited man drew himself up, not letting go of Xanders leg.

"It feels good to wake up after a long sleep. I feel so—so well rested! Like a whole new man."

Xander groaned, "Well, I wouldn't exactly call you a whole new man, maybe just a dead one—hey!"

The vampire threw Xander down, jumping on top of him. Even the fledgling has strength far surpassing the young mans. Kneeling on top of Xanders chest, the great smirking face swung right next to the boys.

"I'm so thirsty, and you smell like a good drink."

Xander opened his mouth, but the words were pushed away as the young vampire tore open his neck. The blood was spilling, falling, being pulled away. A great hammering sounded in his head, a pounding like drums. There was a roaring, the sound of blood in his ears, blood being pulled away, drawn from him without a choice. The drumbeat was growing more rapid, like that of a rabbit.

The vampire released, gasping. He was newborn, must not have realized he didn't need to breath yet. "Your blood, it is my elixir!" He dove back onto Xander, drinking more greedily now.

The pounding was slowing, hammering subsiding as though the drummer were moving further away. It was only then, Xander realized that was the sound of his heart…

***

"I am a master of night," the fledge bellowed, "I am the night itself! My glory is that of my ancestors – the ancient race which has lived for a thousand years. I am—"

"Do you even know what you're talking about, mate? I mean, honestly, evoking the importance of all vampire-kind just so you can gloat. Now shut up, I was trying to get some rest! Fledglings, you lot have no respect for your elders at all, do you?"

"You are my…Master! You are one of the old ones, one of the great destroyers—"

Spike rolled his eyes, "Yea, now sod off. It's not like this Hell-mound needs any more of you gits prancing all about, your new fangs all shiny and whatnot."

Spike rubbed his forehead, grimacing. The monster in front of him was exactly what he didn't need. But then again, it's not like he wasn't the same as that monster, as though he were any better than the fledgling. No, he was much worse. The newborn hadn't even made his first kill, just sloppily tried to embrace what he already was. On the other hand, there was Spike, a monster, a creature of the dark that wasn't even strong-willed enough to do what the foolish little fledge had right after waking.

"I don't need this." He fingered the stake in his pocket. If this fledge was so much better than he was, why wasn't this stake in his own heart?

The young vampire dipped down, grinning as he took a drought from the shadowy figure below.

Spikes eyes grew large. A human. The young, stupid, evil thing was killing some innocent bystander. How hadn't he noticed the scent of blood?

But he had, what else had drawn him from the seclusion of his crypt than that which taunted him, which he denied but would not deny him.

Lunging forward, Spike drove the stake into the fledgling's heart, meeting the young creature's confused eyes before the creature turned to dust.

Spike stepped back, staring down at the pile of dust before stopping, retching…a dry heave he didn't know was possible for a vampire. Blood-stained saliva dripped from his mouth, and it made him want to retch more, harder, but the smell of blood – the delirious scent quelled that. For that, he despised himself.

Forcing himself to, Spike moved towards the crumpled figure, moved forward with quick little steps, balancing on the balls of his feet like a child, or a cat might.

Xander Harris lay, broken and bleeding, propped against a grave marker. The blood that ran down his neck soaked into his shirt, turning every place – from his collar to chest – black. In the darkness, it looked as though he were gaping through, as though that blackness was nothing itself but more darkness and night. Spike could see, though, see through the façade of the lighting that that broken boy was fading fast, that the stain all down his shirt was what little he had left of life, and that miniscule life was ebbing with every wave of fresh blood that poured from his neck.

"Oh shit!" Spike backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet, and hit the ground hard. The scent of blood was overwhelming so close to the source.

Xander groaned, his voice cracking and horse, a spindling whimper that he didn't mean to make.

Spike could feel the terror, the wrenching horror that swept through the young mans body as death drew near. The boy groaned again, calling out this time. And though the words he spoke were inaudible, jumped with pain and delirium, Spike knew it was for help, for comfort. Spike almost cried out with the boy.

There was the amulet, the crystal of what not that just came in again at the magic shop. He could steal the spell books but, this was still a horrible idea.

Spike cursed himself and, feeling Xanders dwindling pulse, reached for the switchblade in his coat pocket. "Goddamn it all," he said, and slid the blade across his wrist long ways, so a red gash formed from wrist half-way to his elbow.

Scowling at the sight, Spike drew himself down and latched onto Xanders neck, taking two deep draws of blood before forcing his face away, tearing himself from the boy. He wanted more, wanted every last little drop of the ambrosia tic stuff, but…that was murder.

And this wasn't?

Coaxing the boys head into his lap, Spike held his arm over Xanders mouth, dripping the blood into his mouth with a sick expression on his face the entire time. This wasn't what he needed, wasn't a good idea, and certainly wouldn't go over well with the boys slayer friend!

It took only moments for the boy to notice the blood. His tongue shot out, lapping up the spilt liquid with clumsy eagerness Time passed, and he was searching for the stray drops now, licking his lips. It was as though Xander were unconscious – and for that Spike was grateful. He couldn't imagine the expression the boy would make, the sick sick expression that would be on his face all the while he was forced to drink.

But now, even Spike couldn't say Xander was being forced. The crumpled boy had lifted up, probing the air for those drops even before they hit his lips. With one, final grimace, Spike lowered his arm to Xanders mouth, gave the boy a taste of the real stuff.

Immediately, Xander latched onto the wound, sucking at it, trying to tear away at the flesh. With no fangs, he only managed a little, only managed to send an unpleasant tingle up the Master Vampire's arm.

Spike could feel it now – the frantic beating, slow at first and then faster, growing in speed, more and more as though it were racing towards something. And then, it stopped. There was no more rushing, no more drumbeat rumbling in his mind. Only pure, unadulterated silence. A silence that made his broken heart ach.

***


	2. Chapter 2: A Genesis

**Title**: The Last Sunrise  
**Author**: Bellskie.  
**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:  
Newly en-souled, Spike is at his most vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animals blood, and living by himself in his rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

Through a series of…rather unfortunate events, Xander is a bit on the homeless side. Jobless too! Living at Giles place is getting past tedious. Still, it's not as though there's much choice. The young man has become a bit withdrawn himself and feeling like the most useless member of the Scooby gang.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you like to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!  
**Reviews**: May I has?

**Authors Notes**: Remember: This is Fanfiction…but if I make any glaring mistakes within the context of the Buffyverse – and I'm sure I will – I would like to know. While I can't be absolutely perfectly exact as far as everything goes, it might be nice to not make any wretched mistakes in the course of my writing

**Beta Reading**: I'm new to fan but I always appreciate a good critique! No worries about hurting my feelings, but please no flaming. Honestly now, there's no place for mindless snarking….well, that's not true, but let's keep it at a minimum, shall we?

***

** Genesis**

He sat there, tied to a wooden chair. His hands had been bound behind his back, his legs attached separately different feet of the chair. The gag in his mouth was pulled tight, pulled until the flesh of his lips looked at the point of tearing.

It seemed a bit overkill for someone already dead, but Spike knew it wasn't. He would have to leave soon, have to make his way out for the first time in months, and the last thing he needed was a new monstrosity added to his collection of unholy mistakes.

Xander sat, limp and cold, unmoving in the already still air of the crypt. He wouldn't stay that way, those huge hazel eyes would not continue staring blindly forward much longer – Spike was certain of that. He felt it in his…his blood?

Regardless of whether or not he liked it, he would have to go out, have to get the proper supplies from the Magic Box and….provisions. It all seemed ethereal, not entirely real in his mind.

Those eyes stirred, something in them growing, swelling, not entirely alive again. Lids flicked open and shut again, moved in a grand succession of surveillance.

Spike looked again, couldn't stand the sight of it. He left the room, going to the refrigerator.

***

Xander gasped, tried to take a deep breath before realizing the follow of both the gag and his new status. Searching the room wildly, he knew where he was – had been there before. Spikes crypt, a bit less suave than he remembered, but the Master Vampires home regardless.

Something inside of him burned, as though his veins were filled with something not entirely his own…something that course through him, something strong. He tried to remember what had happened, why he was where he was, tied to a chair.

A growl grew from deep in his throat, pulled out in an instant. He clashed against the chair, against the steel-hard binds on his arms and his legs. Growling again, Xander gnashed at the gag, tearing at it with fangs not yet developed fully.

The fabric ripped, but slowly and not fully. It was one of Spikes shirts, sheared. He could smell the vampire on it, spell the lusty scent, the blood. Xander grinned, taking another gnash at it until the gag finally fell away, dropped to land on his shoulders very much like a cowl.

He laughed. That strange sensation in his veins was growing, he could feel it winding its way up him until the power of it was unmistakable. The cold logic, the glorious sensation of the darkness – even within Spikes stink-hole of a home, was all coming to him.

And the lust. The blood he could smell was unmistakable. Even on his own clothing, even the stained, soiled shirt he wore drew him forward, made him want to suckle the cloth until he got every last, dried drop into his system. He reached, and couldn't move that far…

The power was growing, and his bonds pushing, forcing him to understand his place, to understand what would happen. Xander growled again, changing this time, morphing into what he now was.

He could feel it, unmistakable feel the shirt in his features. It wasn't painful, just a tinge, just something…different. But, with that shift, he felt the power more clearly, felt it push forward and forthright.

He growled, he laughed and then he stopped.

There was a scent from the other room, a deep and pertinent copper-scent which made him stop. Blood. He could smell it, feel it in him. Xander knew what he was and grinned, a wide, vicious grin.

**

Spike took out two bags of the expired blood he'd gotten from the bank well over a month ago…the stuff was near coagulating in the plastic sack. He threw the stuff in the hot water, not bothering to turn the stoves heat down. The water would boil the blood back to body temperature in no time.

Xander would need it before long.

A growl pierced the silence, the vicious sound of a wild animal confined. Followed by…laughter. The insanity, the absolute loss of mind that would be quickly followed by…Spike didn't want to think about it, didn't want it to get there.

He knew it would, knew with what he had done to the poor boy, there wasn't any helping the change. Xander would become a monster, would have no chance of going back.

No, that's not what he had thought just a while ago, right? Angel had gotten his soul back with some mambo-jumbo magic what-not, right? So, the boy had a chance. It was just Spikes choice, just his responsibility that the whelp…his childe didn't fall so far before his soul could be returned.

Smoke was rising from the water, grey bellows from the heating blood. All in once instant, there was the toxicating wave of blood from the stovetop. One of the blood-bags had burst under the pressure of water. The scent of human blood wafted up.

Spike threw himself back, covering his face, pretending that the scent wasn't there, wasn't as alluring as it truly was. He lay, panting against the crypt wall for a moment, catching himself.

From the other room, Xander roared. He had smelled the blood too, had caught the scent and wanted it, wanted it bad. The blood lust of a new fledgling was unmistakable, was something that had to be taken care of, or…

Spike turned off the stove and dumped the contents of the pot into the sink without bothering to take the remaining bag out. It lay there, a great red sack, pusing out some of its contents from the edges.

He prodded, poked at the bag with his index finger, not sure if it had cooled to body temperature yet, not wanting to enter the other room with his new charge until he had the…food to quell such a rage.

It felt hot beneath his touch, the contents jolting away as though alive still, moving with the change in the bags shape. Spike could feel it in him, feel the hunger burning. After not feeding for almost a month and a half, giving his internal reserves to Xander had all but drained him completely. The hand out in front of him was graying, a dull tone creeping into the normally pallid complexion. He could feel it in the way he moved, unsure, soft…if it came down to a fight with Xander, even with the new vampires fledgling strength and his position as sire, there was no doubt he would loose.

Spike went to the refrigerator and took out the last packet of blood – human blood. He grimaced, but knew it wouldn't work well if the young vampire saw him as something to be taken advantage of. He needed Harris to remain less than volatile until he had the change to fix this mistake.

**

Xander could feel his sire enter the room, could feel the presence of the Master Vampire the moment he entered. A wave of blood followed, a scent which made him lean forward in his chair, made him grin wildly.

"Isn't this nice." He drew, face still displaying his true self, "Didn't think it would have been you who gave me this gift. I mean, you're the one acting all high and mighty all the time, treating me like I'm absolutely—"

"Shut up Harris!" Spike shot, moving behind his childe so he wouldn't be seen. That would do little, but it made him more comfortable with this whole…ordeal. He didn't want to see that vampiric face on one of the Scoobies.

Xander obeyed, he couldn't help but listen. Spike was his sire, his creator, his…master. The young vampire could feel the power rolling off of him, feel the presence that he gave off without a thought.

More than that, Xander could feel the connection, like an invisible string. They were connected, their minds drawn together for eternity and a day. Nothing could separate them, nothing…

**

Spike slashed open the blood bag with his fang, pulling it away from his mouth quickly, not wanting to taste the stuff any longer than he had to. The crimson stuff welled at the surface of the gash like a wound.

Xander perked in his chair, confined as he was, and scented the air. Spike was sure the boy already understood, already felt what he was. Oh god, what he had become…

"Here," Spike held the bag in front of the fledgling's mouth, not wanting to unbind the young man.

Xander latched on, immediately suckling against the bag as he had with Spikes arm, letting the blood seep into him, taint him. He had drained it all in less than a minute, emptied the bag completely and was searching for more. Like a puppy for his mother, the young childe ran his tongue along the tear in the bag, trying to get every last drop, every ounce of the sacred liquid he could.

Spike threw the bag on the floor, disgusted, both at himself and the fledge alike. Xander looked up, confused and still prodding the air for more blood.

"That's enough." Spike instructed, turning away to stare at the stone coffin behind him,

"But—" Xander began, a desperation in his voice.

"I said that's enough!" The vampire swore, kicking the earth. He stormed out of the room, left the fledgling alone in the dark.

**

He would leave, he would figure this all out, make sure this all turned out okay in the end…it was his responsibility, but Xanders problem.


	3. Chapter 3: An Act

**Title**: The Last Sunrise  
**Author**: Bellskie.  
**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:  
Newly en-souled, Spike is at his most vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animals blood, and living by himself in his rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

Through a series of…rather unfortunate events, Xander is a bit on the homeless side. Jobless too! Living at Giles place is getting past tedious. Still, it's not as though there's much choice. The young man has become a bit withdrawn himself and feeling like the most useless member of the Scooby gang.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you like to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!  
**Reviews**: May I has?

**Authors Notes**: Remember: This is Fanfiction…but if I make any glaring mistakes within the context of the Buffyverse – and I'm sure I will – I would like to know. While I can't be absolutely perfectly exact as far as everything goes, it might be nice to not make any wretched mistakes in the course of my writing

**Beta Reading**: I'm new to fan but I always appreciate a good critique! No worries about hurting my feelings, but please no flaming. Honestly now, there's no place for mindless snarking….well, that's not true, but let's keep it at a minimum, shall we?

**An Act**

Spike entered the Magic Box through the back door. He had found his duster in a pile near the corner of his crypt, attempted to put on some clothes that would merit him at least somewhat of a normal appearance…as normal as he was, as normal as he ever could be. It was already nine in the morning when he got to the shop, blanket held over his exposed head, his flesh burning even through the protection of it. He would have hesitated entering, but it wasn't exactly as though he had a choice so late into the day.

Willow was seated in the centre table, a vast array of books spread out and open. Spike wasn't sure what the young wiccan was researching for, but from the looks of the illustrations, it wasn't exactly rainbows and sunshine. Detailed diagrams of daemons surrounded her, all vicious, all, if anything, conservative in their gorish appearance.

He moved quietly behind her, not wanting to say anything until he had to, wanting her to notice him before he had to open his mouth.

She didn't, Giles did.

"What is it that you think you are doing?" the watcher reprimanded, "Spike, is that you?"

The blanket was still over his head, he had forgotten about it. Now, he didn't exactly want to move it, didn't want to show his face.

Willow spun around, swung herself around to look at him over the chair back Spike turned, not wanting to meet her eyes, now wanting to think of what he had done…

"Spike," she said, rising, "It is you!" she was moving towards him, and as she did, the blanket came around him closer, as though he were protecting himself. What had he thought, coming here! What had he been thinking!

Willow moved up, closer to him, pulling the blanket away from him. He gave a little resistance, but eventually let it slip from his grip.

Spike wouldn't meet the young girls gaze, wouldn't look into those prying eyes. He couldn't bear it, couldn't make himself.

Without glancing up, he mumbled, "Sorry Red, just needed to pick up some stuff is all, didn't mean to go on scaring you." He moved back, sidestepping Willow and making his way to one of the shelves that lined the back of the Magic Box in short, jaunty rows.

Browsing absently, he didn't truly read the titles, though he should have, and grabbed two books absently before moving towards where he had meant to, moving towards the books he had browsed with a different kind of desperation less than a year ago. He took two more books off the shelves, this time reading the titles carefully, making sure they were the right the right selections before adding them to the pile in his arms.

He brought the bundle to the front of the shop and set them down on the counter.

"How much is it then?" he asked, digging in his dusters pocket absently.

Giles stared a long moment then reached for the books, scanning each one in turn as you might at a check-out counter of a local library. "It's forty-two seventy-nine, Spike." He said slowly, the words drawn out, even for the old watcher.

Spike dug deeper into his pocket, coming up with a pile of coins, Zipp-O and something that had once been a theatre ticket (though to what play or movie had worn off long ago). He piled the mess on the counter and began digging into his other pocket, a bit frantic this time.

Giles reached out, putting his hand strangely enough on Spikes arm, telling him to stop. "That's alright. Why don't you just bring them back when you're done." He said, dropping the books one at a time into a plastic shopping bag.

Spike looked up, meeting the old watchers gaze, "What, you back to being a librarian then?" he half grinned, but it came out as more of a grimace, "'Cos I don't see anything in it for you to just go on lending out your wares, shop-keep. Not exactly good for business now is it?'

Giles was looking at one of the books, staring at the title with a determined gaze.

"Spike, what are you doing with that?" he said, a shot of (franticness) in his voice. Spike stopped dead on, not moving a muscle. He was like a rabbit trying not to be caught, though that rabbit knew himself already seen it was the best he could do to play all statue-like. Willow moved up behind him, coming like Giles shadow behind the shop counter to gaze down at the book.

"I can—" Spike began.

"Metaphysical Womyns Studies: A Spiritual Guide to the Transition to Menopause," Willow read, the words hanging in the air for a long moment."

Spike stared. "Oh bloody hell, why is that bleeding in my pile anyway! You all up in arms because of something like that!" Spike reached out, even in his current state, grabbing at the book with a vampiric speed and slamming the book down on the counter. Giles was still staring at him, still gazing at him as though he knew something more.

"What, you lot think I need help with my, what was it, transition into menopause. Fine then, I'll just make my trip back here some other time, make sure to visit when one of your fine cronies is running the shack." Spike started away, moving back towards where his blanket had fallen.

"Spike," Giles called from across the room, voice low but loud, a heavy sound that meant something. It wasn't the womyns-whatever book that had caught his attention. He knew that now, knew that it was only Willows mistake.

Back still turned to the pair, Spike sighed deep. It was the other pair, the other books that drew the watchers attention. He knew they would, didn't understand why he had even bothered with the bogus others.

"It's nothing, just a bit of research, is all." He called, not wanting for the older man to say anything.

"So what," Giles started, "You're planning on getting…another soul? Spike what is the meaning of this. These books are the ones that you were looking at before you went to ____! I remember you pining over this pair in particular. Within these books are the incites, are the carnet abilities involved in how to get back a daemons soul! A vampire's soul!"

"You can't mean," Willow started, "I mean you just got yours back, you're not planning on getting—"

"Sod off!" Spike yelled, "What I do is my business. It's not as though either of you two have been there to offer much advice lately, so what's with the chorus of opinions about what do or do not do now? Huh? You already said so, so hand over the books. Like I said, I need them for some bleeding research!" he stalked over to the counter again, eyes down, blanket in hand. Taking the plastic bag, he looked up at the pair a final time, "And I don't need the two of you rubbing your noses in my personal life, do you hear! Not after—" he spun around, leaving the store before he couldn't keep the words back.

Books in hand, the vampire moved with the shadows – blanket still held aloft – towards the only other place that could be any help at a time like this. The Sunnydale Blood bank.

***

Jass had been a mortician years before, worked on the corpses, on the dead. For years his family had wanted him to get out of the business, wanted him to get out and fine some company that wasn't already dead. When he finally did go out in search of that, what he did find was exactly what he had left at the morgue: dead folks!

Jass had been changed four years ago, and after a bit of ruckus he caused about town, he finally settled himself back into the night-time routine of mortician work. After all, what better job for a vampire than working with courses.

He figured: good way to make some petty cash. The corpses that were the victims of the local vampires were something he could cover up in his report, not to mention all the free blood. On a good day, even, he could sell some of the free packets to the local population of the living dead. Talk about a decent living!

***

Spike stalked into the morgue, grimacing at the overbearing scent of chemicals and stiff death. The burly doctor stood across the room, hunched over a man-shaped cloth, working with his masked-face close to the dead-mans own.

Throwing off the blanket and dropping the shopping bag on top of the pile, Spike cleared his throat and made a move forward. Jass didn't move, though he knew the young vampire had heard him Even over the hum of florescent lights and air conditioning turned rather too high, any vampire would catch such a blatant sound.

Jass didn't move, continuing to work on the dead man. Spike made a guttural sound in his throat again and waited. Jass slowly turned, a wide grin present even beneath the white doctor's mask. He had known Spike was there from the start.

"Hang on a sec, will you." He said, beginning to wheel the corpse into a back room, nothing more than a meat freezer really. Returning, Jass took of the mask and latex gloves, whipping the blood that had accumulated on them on his scrubs.

"Now what can I do for you? Are you hear about a body—down from the precinct, or are you here for another reason…"

Spike stared at the man as though he were out of his head. "What the hell do you think I'm here for you git?"

"Spike?" Jass asked, looking down at the vampire cautiously, "It's you isn't it."

"Course it's me, who the hell else would it be!"

Jass shrugged, "Well, I've been getting a lot more business than I used to. Seems the spooks are more afraid of the dark than usual. Guess the slayer has got the creatures so up in arms they're afraid to set foot outside their homes after dark. It's funny really, not something you'd expect after reading even one of those old occult books. It's almost like…" The mortician stopped, staring straight ahead, surveying Spike more carefully this time, looking him over.

Spike hated this, hated the stares. This is why he hadn't left, this is why he wouldn't leave again.

"What is with your hair?" Jass finally said, "It's—"

"Yea, it's brown okay. Now sod off, can't a bloke do something different with his own hair. It's not like it grows in all nice and platinum. Not like it's easy to keep up with the constant dying and re-dying. Figured I'd just give myself a break is all. Nothing really different besides that."

Jass shook his head, making his way over to the cooler on the far side of the morgue. Spike, in turn, followed. "Already heard. You've got your soul back." He said, opening the chest-like freezer. Jass made a motion for Spike to come up next to him, look inside with him. "Now that's a trick if I ever heard one. And, that's gotta be something to deal with. What are you now, like, one of those tragic figures. Anti-hero type who is destined to never find true happiness, but only ever wallow in his own dark nature. I've been reading up you know."

"Yea," Spike mumbled, "somethin' like that."

Jass chucked, nothing more than a single chortle as he shook his head. The young vampire had always been quite at ease. "Well, then what will it be. AB, A, you always seemed to have a thing for O-, but then again who doesn't – the rare stuff always has a special tang to it, like a fine wine that only exists once in a decade."

"Dosen't matter," Spike looked away from the cooler and knew Jass could see him doing this, knew Jass would be smiling as he stared. It wasn't a cruel jester, the vampire just couldn't help himself. "Just load me up with whatever of the cheap stuff you got. I need a fair bit and I need cheap. How about as much as I can get for," Spike reached into his pocket, pulling out the wallet he had found while in the Magic Box, the filled wallet Giles had not allowed him to empty, "Twenty-three dollars and…two nickels and a quarter."

Jass loaded up a brown bag with seven packets of O+ -- so close, yet so far away from the fine stuff, as the young vampire so elegantly put. Giving Spike a look as he left, Jass let out a sigh, a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"I'll never understand why you come here. I mean, it makes sense for the fledges and even some of those younger folk, but you're a Master Vampire, you've already killed what – two slayers? Why do you need to be so afraid of her? It's not like you're exactly in mortal peril out there?"

Spike shook his head and snatched up the blanket, "Not afraid of her mate, I'm afraid of something else."

Balancing the two bags beneath his arm, Spike left a quite distressed Jass wondering what was the new Big Bad that had made it's way to (or from) the Hellmouth. Then again, a new apocalypse always brought more merchandise in. A good apocalypse now and then was quite the business boost.


	4. Chapter 4: A Death

6

**Title**: The Last Sunrise  
**Author**: Bellskie.  
**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:  
Newly en-souled, Spike is at his most vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animals blood, and living by himself in his rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

This will be a LONG fanfiction, and said length will be determined through number of readers and reviews.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you like to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!  
**Reviews**: Thank you so much everyone who'se reading! This is my first fanfiction, so I'm a bit nervous about posting. It's really nice to know I have a few readers out there! I really really really appreciate the reviews  They're what make me keep writing! Really!

**Authors Notes**:: This fanficiton has quite obviously not been proof read**. ****_I'll be editing over prior work after every five chapters** _ (so soon-ish). It also seems that I'll be getting from 2-3 chapters out per week at the moment, so I hope everyone enjoys!

As well, if anyone has any suggestions at all, do PM or e-mail me! I'm more than happy to oblige. Besides MAJOR points in this fic, I'm open to most anything at all X3

**A Death**

Spike returned, wearily shuffling back to his crypt with a defeated air about him. The failure, the absolute failure that he had known of since he had proclaimed his solitude, was certain now. He could see it in the eyes of those people he had once before – Willow, the watcher, even that roach of a blood dealer -- looked at him with pity, ------, even revulsion.

He could hear the monster inside, hear the short succession of clangs that Xander made against his bonds, whipping his hands out from the constraints of the ties as far as they would go and slamming them down on the chair back. He did the same with his feet, smashing into the floor as well as the chair legs. Spike was certain they would break soon. If not, his entire crypt would begin to crumble under the miniature quakes.

For a long while, the vampire stood in the upper segment of his crypt, not willing to venture below yet and face what he knew he had to.

Even in that upper section of his crypt, he could feel the daylight penetrating, slipping in like a vapor. It made him sick to his stomach, made his head ache. But, venturing below would only be worse.

Throwing down the bundle in his arms, Spike watched as the books skitter across the floor – the womyns studies volume sliding next to a packet of blood. One of those packets slid and began to tear, break at the seams. A leak like a needle prick came from the top, spat blood like a bursting water balloon.

Snatching up that blood bag, Spike lifted the stone coffins lid and slid into darkness. He left the bag where it was to pool all around like a wound. It was no use putting off what would only yet worse with time.

**

Xander had been working the ties on his wrists and ankles, working against the chair for some hours with a strength he had only come to possess within that time span. He could feel the chair, the heavy oak with legs thicker than his own, beginning to strain under the pressure. The point of its breaking would be soon, he was sure of that. Same with the binds that held him to the chair back.

The air changed about him, shifted as though a presence entered the very molecules of it. Xander sat upright, stiffened. He knew the feeling already, after the touch of it once before. His sire had returned, had come back.

A grin spread across Xanders face, wide and certain that he would enjoy what came next. For now, he would stop pulling against the strains and listen, wait patiently until the Master Vampire returned.

**

Spike dumped the packets of blood in the cooler – surprised the damn thing even had power Long ago, he had made an effort to tap into the graveyard generator – a pathetic little thing which kept the groundskeeper's home warm at night.

Now, even unmaintained, Spike had the power for his cooler – the lights had all faded away, bulbs burnt out or broken for one reason or another. It's not like he minded that much anyway.

Snatching up two of the packets – one of new bank blood, the other a congealed sack of pigs – he shut the coolers lid. He warmed them together, listening for the sound of Xander struggling in the other room. It was quiet, a dead sort of silence.

Taking out the warm packs, Spike grimaced before pulling his mind from the situation and ripping into the pig's blood, letting it burst greedily and drips down his face. Hesitating, he almost let his ace shift, but couldn't bear to. It was necessessary for him to drink now, not for himself. If it were just for his own benefit, he would sooner fade away, but the man in the other room, the newborn, his childe…if he did not feed, the young man would be come out of control, would loose himself completely to his killer instincts before Spike could attempt restoring his soul. And I that didn't work….there was no way he could kill the man, no way he could shove a steak into Xanders chest.

**

Spike threw aside the drained packet, mouth sore from not shifting his face. Feeding with his human guise on was quite difficult, painful for newer vampires. His fangs had receded into his mouth and it took great effort to tear at the pack.

Taking the bank packet, Spike entered the back room silently, looking straight ahead and trying to wipe away all traces of fear he knew the young fledgling would pick up on instantly.

Xander indeed sat there, bound to the chair still, head against his chest. Spike understood the pain he must be in, a wretched thrall of pain as his whole body changed, became and finally died. The boy must have fallen into a slumber some time ago, exhausted from the great effort his own body's transformation was causing him. Resting, he looked almost mortal again.

The fledgling groaned, a soft mummer that nobody but a vampire would have been able to hear. Xander was stirring at the scent of blood, something a newborn craved like an addiction.

Spike held the bag of human blood to his new childe's face, letting the bag press against his mouth. Xanders tongue shot out, licking at the bags surface, searching for an opening like a newborn cat. When he found none, the young vampire leaned forward, into the bag itself, bringing his lips up against the unsteady form of it

"Drink," spike murmured, keeping his voice low so he barely heard it himself, "you have to tear into it,"

Xander heard and opened his mouth, newly formed fangs – with great effort – beginning to puncture the bag.

Spike pulled back at the overwhelming sent of human blood, he almost lurched forward, almost threw himself at the bleeding sack to take from his childe and drink for himself.

No. He would not drink from a human again, not ever. The pain he had already caused, the loss he was the centre of. Only with Xander about would he keep himself replenished with that vial pigs blood. When this was all over, he would just fade into dust.

The bag was almost empty, sucked into itself and drained so that the little that was left seeped about the insides of the bag, forming little tributaries in the vacuumed surface, red veins.

Yellow eyes. Xander was looking up at him, grinning with his mouth still closed. He swung forward, arms still bound together but otherwise free, slipping the tied pair about Spikes shoulders and bringing hard around his neck. The chain that held Xanders wrists together cut into Spikes neck, pressing so that, if he were human, Spike would have suffocated. Instead, he just stared, unable to move.

Xander pulled up, against Spikes neck until he was standing and staring down at the Master Vampire. He grinned again, this time showing his teeth but not opening them. They were a wall, a dam. Blood dripped from between them, staining the white and slipping through as though he himself were bleeding

Xander moved forward, faster than Spike would have thought possible for a fledgling so young, and pressed his lips hard against Spike own. The childe opened his mouth, human blood slipping form his own to Spikes.

Spike froze, unable to move – from loss of strength, from the sensation that was filling him. Human blood had not touched his lips since Xanders own, and before that…he could not even remember. Struggling, Spike tried to pull away – a halfhearted attempt.

Xander growled into his mouth, and pressed harder against his lips until their teeth met. Spike gave in, only for a moment, letting the blood fill him for a minute without thought, without worry of what he was doing or what would become. He was lost in the lust for blood, the sensation of feeding without worry or regret for just a moment.

Pulling away, Xander grinned too wide too slowly, and one of his new fangs sliced awkwardly into Spikes lip, spilling again blood. The fledgling licked the wound before moving back his head. Spike stood still, staring as though he could not understand what had happened, looking forward at his childs chest as though he did not understand what stood in front of him.

The strength in him was returning, the sensation of greedy power overwhelming

Sneering, Xander looked down at the vampire with his game face showing, enjoying the moment of power. "Drink," he said, a half chortle, low and harsh.

He kissed the vampire once more and, untangling his arms from his Sire's neck, before falling back into his seat, watching Spike like a predator, never ceasing to grin.

**

Spike had left the room quickly, not bothering with tying his childe up. It was just past noon, besides the fact that the newborn was bound to him, was bound to stay where his sire was. That's just how it worked. A childe was attached to his sire, forced to stay with their creator until they grew strong enough to live on their own. It was even more important with those of ancient blood, and the line of ________ ran through Spikes veins and now the Harris boy as well. It took years, decades for most of the ancients to break away from their sires hold if they ever did. There was no fear of the boy leaving.

Spike stood in the empty room, breathing heavily. He didn't need to, but the deep exhales, the intake of air into blood not quite his own made him feel better. The breathing made him feel like less of a monster.

When he had made the move to leave, Xander had done nothing but stare. That smile seemed to have grown, to have become a permanent feature on the fledglings face like an eyes or fangs. Spike couldn't bear to stare at it any longer.

So he stood, breathing heavily in his own little sanctuary, not wanting to face reality. Yet, the unmistakable strength that flowed through him now was something he couldn't begin to deny.

**

Spike left the solace of his room just before four that afternoon. He wanted to be certain the sun was still high and his childe still in the crypt. After some time in the dark, Spike had collected the books he had borrowed from the Magic Shop and had begun pining over their elaborate texts.

Why the hell couldn't those damn books read like actual god-forsaken English! Sure, the things were written in plain enough English letters and English words, but the sentences! It was as though whoever wrote the damn book has written in some sort of Morse code, that or just tried to fit as many words per sentence as sodding possible!

He had poured over the text before, so it came easier this time. Spike had pulled out of the book that there were actually a few ways to reinstate a daemons soul. Through the orb of Thesulah, through a pure "white hats" death and there was the less than clear gypsy method. That method was never really clear on the exacts, but there were a few choices here.

Because a newborn vampire's soul had departed so recently, there were 'curses' which might work on his childe that would never have worked on a Master Vampire such as himself. They were a long shot, and he would require…help to perform any of these, but it was a chance he had. Only, though, before the month was up. He had one month to attempt this all, and then things became quite a bit harder…

He would have to speak to Willow, have to let the young wiccan in on his dark little secret and hope she didn't kill him for it. Not that he would have blamed her. She was the only one strong enough to pull something of this caliber off.

Spike set the book down on the counter and stared up into yellow eyes. Xander seemed to have a new fascination with his true face, not having let himself shift back since feeding hours before. He smiled down at Spike, the childe's large form in great comparison to Spikes own, lithe one.

Glancing at the counter, Spike saw that the entire soupy of blood he had picked up at the bank this morning was emptied in a mass of carnage on the countertop, sopping a scarlet stain into the wooden surface. It would stain.

Xander grinned once more, and moved away from his sire as though in a motion of . Spike stared at him, eyebrow raised.

"What's it you're doing, Harris?" he finally broke through the stand off with a curt little phrase that meant nothing.

Xander nodded, fishing into the open cooler. He picked a remaining packet of bank blood from inside of it and tossed it at Spike. The vampire caught it and stood, staring at Xander and not the bag.

He finally gave in, looked half-heartedly at the boy and clasped on the bag with his teeth. Regardless of the newborns intentions, Spike needed his strength if he were to coax the boy back in place and keep him in the crypt when night fell again. Buffy still patrolled the graveyard, and despite Xanders new vampiric strengths, Spike was hoping to at least attempt to put back his soul before the boy was dust.

If and when he failed, he'd have to do it himself.

Draining the bag, he set it on the counter with the five others and looked back to Xander.

"Why don't we have a nice chat, Harris." he forced the ashen words from his mouth, and motioned for his childe to follow.

**


	5. Chapter 5: An End

**Title**: The Last Sunrise

**Author**: Bellskie

**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:

Newly en-souled, Spike is at his mot vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulling away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animal blood, and living by himself in the rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

This will be a LONG fan fiction, and said length will be determined through number of readers and reviews.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you link to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!

**Reviews**: Please?

**Authors Notes**: As well, if anyone has suggestions at all, do PM or e-mail me! I'm more than happy to oblige. Besides MAJOR points in this fic, I'm open to most anything at all!

A Prelude connecting this and the end of Season 6 will be added soon. HD crashed so I'm rewriting a lot. Editing will take place over these current five chapters I'd suggest rereading after if you want to get all info.

**An End**

He led the young man into the back room where the fledge had been earlier tied. The childe went willingly; Spike knew he couldn't help but. It was the bond they shared now, one that was not easily broken. Only with time and with the maturing of the young vampires power would it slip away.

Spike moved to the pasely-prit couch -- a wretched off-cream and salmon monstrosity he had liberated from the dump some years before. He motioned for Xader to sit across from him -- sit where he had been tied earlier. The chair still stood, a little less sturdy but upright nonetheless. Xander looked awkward against the broken thing. He was a tall man -- a good head above Spike -- with well formed muscles and russet complexion was barely touched by the pallor of death.

The blood stained shirt, tight against him, seemed to strain a bit under the tear it had gone through the night before.

Sitting there, Xander appeared to be almost crouching -- legs brought up against his chest. He leaned forward, elbows upon his thighs, staring straight into his sires face. Those hazel eyes -- for he had finally felt the discomfort of his sire and slipped back into his human guise. There was a light behind those hazel eyes, a spark that hadn't been there the day before. Was it intellect? No. The glimmer was viciousness, the gaze of a killer -- held at bay.

Spike sighed, a voluntary gesture he would use to begin…

Xanders smirk widened and he leaned closer.

"Full up then, pet?" Spike drew, pulling free of the boys gaze.

"You aren't."

"Not what I asked," the reply was curt, but he had registered the newborns reply so quickly.

"Well then," Spike kept his voice in check, the words from loosing that control and slipping to insanity. "You won't leave tonight. You will stay hear." Xander looked him in the eye, forcing away that disconcerting gaze Spike held. "You will not move, not leave the crypt until I say so!" he snarled, words a vicious smear in the silence. He felt the new blood rising to his head, the growl in his throat. Already he was on his toes, edging off the sofa.

Xander looked confused for one, long moment -- staring at the elder vampire as though he did not register. The desire for the hunt and primal need to be by the side of his sire welled up in one instant.

"You expect me to starve like you!" he spat, "I'm not the pathetic shell you are just because Buffy didn't like your new and improved soul!"

Spike was up, faster than he had been able to in months, face having shifted. He snarled. Holding his childe back, holding the boy by his neck, Spike growled in his face. "You will stay," he said the words so slowly, trying to keep them from losing control.

Xander grinned and opened his mouth as though to speak. The grip on his neck gave way to the squeak, a weak little gasp for words.

Spike released, a little, so the young man dropped enough for his feet to meet the concrete. He brought his hand up, checking his neck and testing his voice.

Xander looked at the vampire, eyes meeting the elders and flashing a momentary gold.

"I'll stay," eh said, dropping the façade of his smirk, "As long as you can keep me here. When I'm strong enough to break away -- and you know how soon that is if things don't…change…"

Xander pushed against his sire, a gentle shove which almost threw Spike back.

Recovering quickly, the older man was up on his feet and at Xanders heels. He grabbed the young mans wrists and swung him around quickly so the two faced another.

"That is no time soon," he growled, "You really don't understand yet, do you?" Xander looked confused, his face shifting to something quite human, "It's not as though you won't, you cannot leave. There isn't the option as long as I say so. As your…sire…you will listen to me." he clenched the words tight, used his masters voice, teeth straining against another to keep the growl from rising. "Is that clear?"

Not waiting for a reply, Spike swung the crypt door open with both outstretched arms.

"You," he turned back to the boy, "You stay right where you are." The voice of a master hung in the air even after Spike had left.

**

Not right, never right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Not now, not ever. Oh god, not now. All it did now was burn, every time he saw the boys face. It just hurt. And Xander was inside of him, a link; Sire, Childe. He felt the boy inside of his own crooked soul, felt Xanders exhilarating power and fear.

The childe must feel it too, that link. That slippery soul of Spikes. And if he could feel it, they might just overcome this. Spike might fix this whole hell before it really broke loose.

But he couldn't alone. Always alone, always in the dark…

"Sure he can hear me now. Grand ol' Sire of mine. Fine one Angelus was!"

No, no he had to think, pull himself back. It was just his mind playing tricks.

"Dirty tricks, dank little things make up my life. That's all I really am, right? Trick, game for Dru and the folks. Angelus then Dru then that slayer. Now my own childe," Wasn't the time, but he wanted to rest, needed to sleep so much. He just wanted to rest in peace. All he ever really wanted. And he could have that, yes, have it after this was fixed for Xander.

The boy would be made whole again.

Get back the soul he ha stolen. It wasn't his place to have done that, wasn't right, wasn't right at all.

"Bt when does William do what is right? Just screws it all around, musses everything up until all the colours run Can't just leave well enough alone.

"Why can't I leave it alone!"

His voice rang through the cemetery, a lonely dead thing in a lonely dead place.

There was no one there to hear him, see him, touch him. "Just a ghost. Just another dead thing such hatching the living, I am."

And that's exactly what Xander would become, and it would be his fault.

No, he would find a way to fix this. It wasn't the end, a death was never the end. Only another step…

And if Willow didn't stake him first, he would help Xander through it before quietly disappearing.


	6. Chapter 6: A Choice

**Title**: The Last Sunrise

**Author**: Bellskie

**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:

Newly en-souled, Spike is at his mot vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulling away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animal blood, and living by himself in the rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

This will be a LONG fan fiction, and said length will be determined through number of readers and reviews.

**Distribution**: All I ask is you link to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!

**Reviews**: Please? Mail me any suggestions at: . I'm willing to do pretty much anything that you suggest ^_^ I always love outside ideas!

**Authors Note**(s): This Chapter is SHORT! As well, this chapter is NOT Beta-read. I'm in the process of getting all previous chapters caught up with being beta-read, but since it is taking a while, bear with me. If you're wanting to wait for better quality of this chapter and previous chapters, do wait! Don't complain about quality, though, please. It will be shortly fixed ^_^

**A Choice**

He stood, staring blankly at the Magic Shop door. He cold enter, should enter, but something in him held his feet in place, held him where he stood. Spike stood in the light, pooling around him, flickering.

He could hear her inside the building. Willow moved about, her heart beating steadily as she readied herself for bed. If he had a heart, it would be pounding beneath his breast.

Gulping an unnecessessary breath, Spike stepped out of the light, forward and to the door. He knocked half-heartidly, rapping quickly on the door. Secretly, he hoped the girl would not hear his silent knocking, hoped she would mistake it for the sounds of the street and go on getting ready for bed.

Willow opened, her hair disarrayed. She wore an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants. Her eyes were tired, the make-up smeared about. She had quite obviously been in the process of removing it.

When she saw Spike standing there, she smiled sadly. "Spike," she mouthed, surprise clear in her voice. The vampire looked uneasy, beginning to see the discomfort this visit would bring. Willow mistook it, her smile fading somewhat. She held open the door and ushered Spike forward. "You're invited in."

Spike nodded, shoving his hands in the dusters pocket to the very bottom. "S'all right, luv. You've no need to invite me in. 'S a public place, after all." He strode forward, hands still jammed in his pockets, fiddling with his lighter. He flicked at its edge, daring it to catch fire.

Willow closed the door behind him, yawning as she did so. It was late for her, Spike remembered, and though he could not tell the time, he knew the girl should be asleep already.

He moved to the table, trying not to look the witch in the face. He stared at the floor, determined to keep this as impersonal as possible as long as possible. That was never going to happen.

"Could you sit down, Red." He tried, peeking up at the girl, but not looking her in the eyes. "I have something important to tell you."

Willow looked confused, but gave in, sitting down on the large table used for research. Spike took a seat finally, making certain to pick the chair furthest from the young girl. He knew the kind of wrath she was capable of, and knew that he deserved every bit of the worst kind. But…for the sake of the young boy who was now at his crypt, he would keep himself as solid as he could. Once the fledge had his soul again, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Willow coughed nervously, bringing Spike back. The had been seated a long few minutes in absolute silence. He just didn't know where to begin, how to break it to the girl that her best friend, the boy she had grown up with was now, at best, dead. At worst (and as that boy would have before said) the evil dead. Deadboy.

"Willow," he swallowed hard. The salve caught in the back of his throat, pushing itself back up. He didn't want to be here, wanted to bury himself, disappear into nothing. "I have something to say about Xander."

Spike tried hard to keep his voice steady, keep it from cracking. He was so close to breaking completely.

Willow perked at the name. "Have you seen him?" she tested, unsure of what the vampire was getting at.

"You haven't seen him in a few days." It was a statement, not a question. But, the witch took it as one, forcing anything that might be constrained as "bad news" from her mind.

"No, but then again, he's not been around much lately. Not since the potentials started showing up."

"Right, Red." Spike said, drawing himself up. This would be like pulling the sword from your heart – but it felt more like pushing it deeper. "The boy was killed. I saw it myself, in the cemetery, a few days ago. He was killed by a vampire, drained to the point of death."

Willow looked stricken, as though she had been slapped in the face. "No…"

"I'm sorry." Spike looked down again, studying the grain in the table. "That's how I found him. He was near death, bleeding, unaware of what was happing. I think the boy had been stone drunk when he was attacked, anyway, so there wouldn't have been much awareness. It's likely the pain was dulled a bit as well."

Willow tried to say something, choked, and tried once more. "A few days ago," she mouthed quietly, "Why didn't you tell me, us, sooner. You were here just yester—"

"I'm so sorry, luv." Spike stared hard at the table-top, bore holes in it with his eyes. "I said the boy was dead, didn't say much more than that. I found him drained. Couldn't think of what else to do. I—"

His voice broke, and the tears were coming. He could feel them pricking at the back of his eyes, pushing forward against all his restraints, all his better judgment.

"No,"

"I just, I couldn't bear to see him go—It wasn't the right way for things to end. I just…just acted so fast. Didn't think of what I was doing. Red, the boy is a mess. He's a," Spike stopped for a long moment, wanting to push the words away. He couldn't, it wasn't worth it. "He's a monster. He has no soul. I want to, need to bring him back. Boy needs his soul put back."

Spike dared a look up at the witch, and saw that she was crying. Willow silently wept, never taking her eyes off the vampire. She saw him look up, and nodded quietly. "I understand," she said, words nearly discernable beneath the sobs. "You did what any of us would have in your situation. I'm so glad that he's not—" she stopped, realizing her mistake. The boy wasn't exactly living or breathing. "Gone. You were here at the store earlier, looking at books. Those were the ones you had looked at when you were trying to get your own soul back. So, you have a way to get Xanders soul back?"

Willow stopped, stricken. It was the first time her friends name had been said. They had both been so carefully dancing around the obvious. Her friend, who she had grown up with, lived out her childhood with, loved wasn't alive anymore.

It wasn't time for that. They both needed to keep things simple. Xander was still there, in a sense.

Spike broke through the silence. "Yeah, but it's not like with mine. I had to fight for my soul, had to want to get it back. The way he is now, Xander isn't exactly geared up for the Daemon Trials."

"We're going to curse him?" there was obvious horror in Willows voice.

"Not if we can help it. I've been reading," Spike pulled out of his duster's inside pocket one of the books he had gotten from the shop earlier, and slid it across the table towards the witch. "and it seems like we might have caught a break. If the ritual is preformed within a fortnight of the vampires…siring, then its soul can be returned. No clause, no happiness ordeal to worry 'bout. It wouldn't work with someone as old as me, same with Angel – which is why you bunch never knew about the ritual when you were trying to get ol' broody back to his less blood-thirsty self." Spike breathed deeply. He didn't mean to divert, didn't mean to make light of the situation, but it was the only way he could talk to the girl without feeling such a guilt. He had enough of that already, and with any more added to his plate, he was likely to change into something close to his Grandsire – hell, he was already pretty damn close to it!

"Anyway, I've got him locked away. He hasn't done any harm to anybody, so as soon as you can, the ritual can be preformed and the boy can be back to his old self – as much as possible that is."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why did you wait until just now to tell me about Xander!" Willow cried, as if the thought had suddenly stricken her out of the complacency she had just been caught in.

Spike opened his mouth once, staring at her with an expression of guilt crawling over him. "I—I couldn't. Not in front of the watcher. Not when I wasn't absolutely sure he could even get his soul back! I didn't want to cause you lot any more pain than was absolutely necessessary. I just—"

Willow was up, racing around the table towards him. No! Not now, not until after they preformed the ritual! The boy would need his sire there to complete it, couldn't get his soul back if his sire was dust!

Willow stopped in front of Spikes chair, staring him down until the vampire looked up, met her in the eyes. Tears glistened there, framing green as though rain on the grass. The witch brought her hand up, palm outstretched, and slapped Spike hard on the face.

It stung, the sensation of Willows hand lingering on his cheek. And she was crying, harder now, sobbing out loud. Spike looked up, and from how blurred his vision was, knew he was too.

The young wiccan launched herself forward, arms outstretched. She latched onto Spike, clinging to him, hugging him tight as she sobbed. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell her that it would be alright, but felt like this was more her telling him just that.

The both cried for a long while, sobbing together until the bought of tears ebbed, fell away into sniffles and then to nothing but red-rimmed eyes and the drained feeling that lingered in their heads.

"We'll get him back, luv." Spike said as Willow finally pulled away from him, unwrapping herself from his chest. "I promise you, we'll get Xander back."


	7. Chapter 7: A Loss

**Title**: The Last Sunrise

**Author**: Bellskie

**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:

Newly en-souled, Spike is at his mot vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulling away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animal blood, and living by himself in the rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

Vamp!Xander

**Distribution**: All I ask is you link to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!

**Reviews/Comments/Messages: **Always Welcome

**Authors Note**(s): To Be Beta-Read. I am in the process of having previous chapters edited. I am posting as they are edited on all other sites, but the unedited WIP's will be here before anywhere else if you're willing to read and deal with my basic mistakes.

I've been a bit slow lately on posting new chapters. I will be, now, a bit more frequently. My Hard Drive had crashed, again, and I lost all my chapters.

**A Loss**

He could feel his sire now, feel him moving farther away. It was a loss, a pain that grew within him. He had been so connected – as though there were something greater grounding him, holding him in place. Now, with that feeling dwindling as his sire moved further and further away, it was almost as if his connection to life moved with it.

Xander sat against the stone coffin, his head thrown back so that it rested on his shoulders. He stared up at the ceiling, studying the cracks in it. He waited, reached out for his sire with his mind. He could feel the bond, feel the string that pulled them together. That link was still there, there was still his sire no matter how far away he went…

***

Spike gathered the ingredients with Willow, going through the Magic Shops' storage, the inventory he had been so used to liberating from the basement without the witch or watcher knowing. The list was simple enough – vandal root, jinx, cats tongue and snowflake obsidian – together with the full moon, and with the charm. It was a silver thing in the shape of a half-cross. The flourished image of a wing branched out from one side of it, showing like a broken bird.

Spike had found the thing himself when looking for a ay out of his own (monstrosity), found it before he knew it was useless. It would now be worth something, now be worth more than him. He was so close, so close to ending all of this.

Collecting the supplies, Spike set them on the table where Willow was working. She had drafted up the spell, had worked out what would be done during the charm, and seemed ready. Still, the power that was required in a spell like this…the young woman wasn't sure if she had it in her still. To draw on so much could bring the darkness out, bring out something even worse.

Spike cleared his throat. "Red, I think we need one more thing for this to spell to work right." He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the overgrown trestles. "Boy's gotta be here too, right?"

"Y-yeah." Willow jumped at the words, "Do you need me to come with you?"

Spike looked perplexed, as though the witch hadn't said what he thought. But Willow continued to stare darkly at him, expression adamant.

"No, 's okay. I'll bring your boy here. How long do you need."

Willow stared back at the spell in front of her before looking back at him, worry in her eyes. "I need to make the potion and set the circle. It shouldn't bee too long, but to be on the safe side, we should wait. Not long, I think, just a few hours."

Spike looked grim. "It's getting late. It's already, what, five-thirty. The sun's up and the boy – he's young. He'll be out soon."

"Out?"

"A fledgling vampire, no matter how strong, operates on instinct mostly. Sunlight means rest. He'll be out cold in 'bout an hour." Spike stuffed his hands in the dusters pockets, trying to find the right place for them, for himself. He shrugged. "Might be easier to do the ritual with him dead to the world." He regretted the horrible play on words. Wasn't the time to be hiding behind cute slips of the tongue.

Willow shook her head. "No, he needs to be conscience during the spell or it won't work."

Shaking his head, Spike shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "Then we'll have to wait. Tomorrow night, right? 'S there anythin' else, Red?"

"No. Can you be here right after sunset? I'll clear the shop out early and set everything up. Just bring…Xander."

Spike nodded, holding a grimace at bay. He didn't want the witch to feel even worse. She didn't deserve to feel any worse than she already did. "Will do." He turned, walking to the door quickly. Something at the base of his neck pricked, had been all night. He wanted back to the crypt, wanted to be there for some god-forsaken reason he couldn't place for the love of himself! "And Red, I'd appreciate you keeping the slayer in the dark for a while. S'not like I don't care for the gal, but her and that watcher, I'm not exactly sure they'd be as forgiving about what happened with the boy as you are."

"Spike," Willow began, but the vampire was already moving away, had pushed the door open and was leaving. "I'm sure they won't—they won't hold it against you. You did what you thought was best. It will be right in the end.

"I promise."


	8. Chapter 8: A Rescue

**Title**: The Last Sunrise

**Author**: Bellskie

**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:

Newly en-souled, Spike is at his mot vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulling away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animal blood, and living by himself in the rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)

V_amp!Xander, Initiative!Fic _(upcoming)

**Distribution**: All I ask is you link to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!

**Reviews/Comments/Messages**: They keep me writing! You should leave them -hinthint-

**Authors Note**(s): My hard drive crashed a while back. Because of that, I got lazy and just didn't work on retyping up all those chapters that were lost along with so much more. Here, though, is my return! I will be posting more chapters for this fic.

Oh, and the Daemon is named after my cat!

**A Chase**

He should have seen the damn thing coming. I mean, a Djinar daemon with purple skin and tentacle isn't exactly easy to miss. He had just been thinking -- not brooding. He didn't brood.

The daemon rammed into him, throwing its great bulk against Spikes frame, knocking the vampire off balance completely. Blood pooled from where Spike had smashed against his own crypts stone wall. He had been so close to getting inside too, but it seemed like the daemon had other plans.

Spike tried to scramble back up, to right himself before the massive fuchsia blob could o any more damage, but he was covered in the Djinar's slime. That stuff was dangerous, would likely kill a human pretty quick. All it did to the vampire was a pretty hefty paralysis. Spike struggled to get up nonetheless, knowing the daemon wouldn't care too much whether he were human or not. The thing was just a hungry piece of shit looking for a quick meal. It slid back, moving a distance away, waiting for the slime to have it's full effect.

'Stupid fuck, doesn't even realize I'm not human.' Spike tried to reach into his pocket, to grab at the knife stashed there. The knife was iron -- hard metal -- and even if he could just prick the bleeding monster, it would do some bit of damage. But, even as he tried, his limbs felt remote, far too distant to be his own. The slime oozed down his shoulders, weighing him down, making him feel very far away, very tired. Another thought struck him. 'Damn monster probably realized I wasn't going to just fall over dead and decided to wait me out. Vampire 's as good as a human, least until they dust in your mouth.'

His thoughts were growing hazy, slipping further from his control, almost as if he were falling asleep. The sun was already risen, and he was lucky to have been attacked in the shade of his own crypt.

'No, I'm not going to die 'cos some goddamn blueberry daemon jumped me on the way back home!'

Almost in reply, the daemon's mouth drew back into a snarling grin. It had no eyes to speak of, but Spike could tell that it knew this wasn't going to be a challenging meal. The Djinar slunk forward, leaving a trail of slime and whithered grass.

'Not done yet!' Spike cried in his mind, 'I'm still fighting, still got some life in me, still got a spark! You ain't gonna' get off so easy, mate! Not done yet!'

But as the daemon got closer, Spike began to realize there was very little he could do against it. His limbs weren't exactly at his command, even his voice seemed to be lost inside. One of the purple tentacles wrapped twice around his torso and began to hull him to the daemons mouth.

'No! I've gotta save the boy first! Oh shit, I've gotta fix this! Help, someone get your ass on out here and fix this for me so I can make things right myself!'

The daemon spread its double-jointed jaws, unhinging them as to get a better grasp when its prey finally was pushed down his gullet. Running a tentacle, oozing slime, over the vampires body again, Spike could feel that sleep overtaking him. He could feel the darkness take him.

'No! 'S not right. Come on. Need help. Not yet...'

---

Spike felt himself wake, roused slightly by someone. He was coaxed up, and something warm pressed to his mouth. Instinctively, he began to suck, to feed. The vampire drew blood from the source, not fully conscience yet, more out of instinct than anything. He could still not feel his limbs fully, but there was at least the tingling sensation in them that let him know they were still attached.

The source of blood drew away again, only to return in seconds, pressing hard up against his mouth so that the flesh was cut without any aid of Spike's fangs. He drank deeply, and then fell again into darkness.

---

This happened three more times: short periods of half-wake brought on by blood. Spike couldn't distinctly recall anything other than the blood to his mouth, and -- if he thought hard enough -- the taste of it lingering there. It wasn't animal, but neither was it human. There was something special about it, powerful about it. The blood tasted like love and fear and family. Spike groaned, trying to put things in place, but his mind was still a jumbled mess. He could barely thing, could barely stand to think. Crashing into the crypt had done very little for the state of his skull. It ached like it was cracked and Spike very well figured it just might have been. At least with all the blood, anything ill the Djinar had done to him would be healed up quickly...

---

Spike opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Not a ceiling, just some rocks. Some stalactites, Or was it stalagmites, he never could remember which was which...His ceiling, his little underground cavern. Edging up in the bed, Spike could see more of his own crypt. He was in his bed, soundly tucked in, undisturbed.

Rubbing his head, the vampire tried to remember what had happened, why his head felt like he had been hit with an organ -- again. Spike felt his head, felt a heavily bandaged wound, sharp to the touch and still seeping blood. It came back to him quickly.

Pushing himself up, Spike swung his legs over the bed, waiting for his head to stop spinning before he braced himself and stood. Everything was a haze still, but he had to find the boy. Poor boy was probably the one who made this right, and the fledge must be scared shitless because of his sires current state.

Spike stumbled up the makeshift latter and up into the upper levels of his crypt. He pulled himself up and out before his body could react too badly and start spinning again. Spike stood, holding onto the stone coffin for support, and looked around for his childe.

No one but shadows. No one but dark patches hiding in the corners. And then he looked harder, saw what those shadows really were. They were bodies, bloodless bodies of bloodless people laying dead in the corners of his home.

Everything started to spin again. If his heart could beat, it would have hammered out of his chest completely. Keeling over, Spike retched once, the gag reflex alien to him, but happening all the same. The only thing that came up was a bit of blood. He was certain it had come from these bodies, and that only made him gag harder.

But where was the boy. Where had his childe gone. Spike tried not to think about those dead in his living room but the innocent boy trapped inside a daemon somewhere around here. How had he gotten out. How had he managed to-- Spike mentally hit himself. He had set the boy free, had cried out for help -- if even in his own head. The new fledge was sensitive to his sires commands and even those thought would effect the childe. Spike had cried out for help and Xander had been there to answer that plea. And now--where was he!

Frantic, Spike moved about the crypt, ignoring the pain in his head and the heaviness in his limbs, searching for his childe. He called out to the boy but got no reply. It wasn't right. He could feel him there, in the back of his mind, but at the same time he couldn't. Something was very very wrong. That's not the way a newborn fledge should feel to his sire, at least not from what he had heard form Darla and her old books. Even after a decade, he and Angelus had a bond stronger than this. Xander was less than a week old, he shouldn't feel this...distant.

Glancing at the clock, Spike was hit with more panic. It was already 9. He should have been at the witches place with Xander an hour ago! What was he supposed to tell her? That her childhood best friend was out stalking the night, maiming and eating folks! It wasn't exactly a good conversation starter...

But Xander wasn't out in the cemetery eating anyone, he wasn't out stalking the night or doing any of the other nasties that a vampire should be up to. Spike felt the link again, focused in on it even with his head so cloudy. There was something more there. There was a fear seeping through the bond, a fear penetrating the boy's entire being very unlike anything Spike had felt from Xander before.

Spike spun around, opening the door and ready to race to the Magic Box. He was hit with a blast of sunlight and literally threw himself back to avoid a rather fiery fate. In doing so, Spike stumbled, falling heavily onto one of the bloodless corpses He cried out, struggling off as though he had been stung. Spike could not bear to look at the dead, innocent person laying there, because of him, because of what he had created. He pushed himself up, ignored the pain, and made his way to the sewer exit.

'Must have slept less than I thought. No, longer than that. Must have slept through the whole day.' The thoughts started, but ended quickly, throwing themselves back into what was still lingering in the shadows of his mind. 'Gotta find my boy, gotta save my boy.'


	9. Chapter 9: A Murder

**Title**: The Last Sunrise

**Author**: Bellskie

**Pairing**(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Summary**:

Vamp!Xander, Initiative!Fic (upcoming)

**Distribution**: All I ask is you link to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!

**Reviews/Comments/Messages**: They keep me writing! You should leave them -hinthint-

**Authors Note(s)**: Now coming with more Frequency! Oh, and I've never text messages before. If I didn't write that correctly, most people who know me in real life know I barely know how to use a telephone. You'll just have to deal with it.

**A Murder**

Spike opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Not a ceiling, just some rocks. Some stalactites, Or was it stalagmites, he never could remember which was which...His ceiling, his little underground cavern. Edging up in the bed, Spike could see more of his own crypt. He was in his bed, soundly tucked in, undisturbed.

Spike felt the mark on his chest where the daemon had slashed. He felt the tight wrappings about his head, blood still seeping free. The wounds were healing...fast, too fast. Groaning, he pushed himself up, surprised at how fully healed he was feeling.

Calling out for Xander, Spike got no response, He shifted, swung his legs out of the blanketed wrap he somehow had found himself in. He was indeed in his crypt, but it was very dark, not the early dawn he had anticipated. There was a scent of blood too, a deep penetrating aroma that caught him off guard. Spike reached for the green beura that stood beside his bed, pulled one of the drawers open and came up with apair of black jeans and tee -- the only that he had clean with his now standard covered in slime. It felt strange to be donning these again, like he was putting on an odd ensamble of this former exisance. But, Spike let the oddity fail and pulled his clothes on. He made his way up to the crypts upper levels, calling out for Xander all the while, reaching for him with his thoughts. But he was so tired, exhausted, drained it was all his effort just to stand. By the time Spike had reached the top floor, he was swaying, holding unsteadily onto the wall, running his hands along the cool stone in desperation to keep himself from dropping into warm blackness.

And yet, when he finally stepped up from his personal quarters onto the top floor, Spike almost wished he had let himelf. Three bodies lay, propped agianst eh furthest wall, pale and reeking. They had obviously been drained and their carcasses left now to rot.

SPike was breathign hard, hypervelating like he used to as a mortal. Indeed, since his souls return, many of his mortal flaws has returned as well.

The bodies smelled damp and delicious and dead. Spike gagged on reflex, holding his side as he heaved. A little blood came up with resistance and he shuttered hard.

He called for Xander.

Sill, there was no response. The boy was gone -- had come to him, saved him and now had left again.

Spike left his crypt in a hurry, trying to put the masacre in hsi living room out of mind as he moved to the Magic Box, panting, crying.

-----

Dawn propped her geometry book up against the bust of some fertility goddess and stared at it absently, checking her cell for a new text every few seconds.

There was this new bot at school, Dean, and he was absolutely perfect! And now, they were sort of, kind of, maybe going out. Hopefully. The phone chimed and Dawn grinned wide, clicking back a reply. She sent it and began her wait again.

Willow came hurridly behind her and the phone was instantly gone, all attention diverted to math.

"Dawnie, I'm going to have to let you go soon." Willow put her hand on the girls shoulder. "I have some things to do tonight, and you should be getting home before it's too dark out."

"Yeah. Stear clear of all the ooglie-booglies that come out after the sun sets. I get it. No probem, Willow."

Dawn slammed the book closed, glad to be finally doe with it, though, truth be told, she hadn't really been paying attention to homework since her and Dean...Whatever, she had more important things to worry about!

"If Giles calls," she yelled over her shoulder, leaving the Magic Box, "Tell him I said 'hey'. And if you see Xander before I do--" she smiled, knowing she didn't have to say anything more. Dawn had told Willow about her crush and after fifteen years of pining over Xander, she was glad for a change. He could really be her 'big brother' figure now.

"Yeah." Willow chimed, trying to sound upbeat.

Dawn grinned and let the door close.

----

Spike had wanted to leave immediately, but the sun was still up. Barely, yet enough to deture even the most persistance vampire.

He took the sewers, heading directly to the Magic Box. He had to see if the spell could be done without Xander present. At least they could try it. Spike called to his childe, but got only the faintest trace of teh boy. There was an underlying fear, a strange sensation when he focused too much on Xander. He was tired and still feeling teh effects of the Djinar dispite how much human blood had been poured into him recently.

He couldn't seem to get a grasp on where his Childe was or what was wrong...if anything. For all he knew the fear and the pain he felt was his own, confused with the bond. Spike got to the basement of the Magic Box and had to force himself to enter. He wanted so badly to not have to tell any of this to the witch, to spare Red of the pain he knew would cross her face so openly. And yet, there was no other choice here.

Climbing the stairs two at a time, Spike caught sight of Willow as she moved quietly about the store, setting up candles and lighting them with a flick of her finger. She saw him and turned to say something, but before a word could be uttered, Spike moved ahead and forced his own.

"Boy's not gonna be here tonight, Red." he tried to sound calm, to keep his nerves in order, but knew if she looked hard enough, Willow would see his hands shaking, "We'll have to find a way to get that soul back without his presence."

Dispite how well he masked his words, Willow knew the vampire and could see through him. He was tired, bloodied, shaking and in pain. Something had happened he didn't wish to talk about and she didn't feel like prying. Nodding quickly, she extinquished the flame kindling in her hand. "I think we can do that." She moved behind the counter, pulling a book out. WIllow kept her eyes averte the entire time. She set her eyes hard, and refused to let anything cross onto her face. Flipping through the text, Willow came to a marked page and handed the leather bound copy over to Spike. He took it, saying nothing, only looking up at her expectantly. She nodded once more. "It's along the same lines of the curse Angel's under but minus the eternal happiness part. Unless we have Xander here with us, this is the only way we can get his soul back."

Spike looked down and read slowly. '..curse the vampire to make him feel the pain off all of those he caused suffering. To make him repent for the crimes...'

"Red, this isn't going to work. I can't make he deal with that. It's too much!"

Willow set her mouth into a hard line and stared straight at Spike, forcing his eyes up. She wouldn't let him look away. "There isn't another way I can find, Spike. And, to be perfectly honest, he's going to have to deal with that whether the curse is there or not. Look at yourself..." She almost wished the words hadn't come, but before an appoligy even began to form, Spike cut in.

"Fine. We do it tonight, though." he snapped the book closed, "Before he does anything...worse."

Willow nodded and moved to grab what was needed from the basement storage. She wanted to pry, wanted to know what had happened. The state that Spike was in was absolutely horrible, and in the back of her mind, the Witch knew Xander had been involved somehow. And yet, she didn't want to know.

"Copy the inscription onto parchment, Spike. And" she faultered here, not wanting to touch any of the poor vampires already frayed nerves, "I need you to get a vial of your own blood. There should be a syringe in the back closet."

Before she could think anymore, Willow began to cry.


	10. Chapter 10: A Soul

Title: The Last Sunrise

Author: Bells

Pairing(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn t it?

Summary:

Newly en-souled, Spike is suffering through the pain of the horrors he had done as a demon. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone and in the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulling away from everyone around to wallow in what he had done. He will not feed, will not speak to any of the Scoobies and is living by himself in his rank crypt without any type of contact (human or otherwise) for months. He is fading. How will he fair when an accident gives Spike no choice but to let Xander die or turn him?

Vamp!Xander, Angst

AU Buffy: between S6-S7:: No Spuffy, No Original Evil, Giles/Anya (left the country), Willow owns the Magic Box, No Potentials, No Caleb.  
AU Angel: fits along the same timeline as Angel S5:: Canon except No Illyria (or forthcoming Illyria

**A Soul**

He stayed close to the shadows, watching silently. Mouth twisting in a grin, he let the world switch vistage, changing so that everything appeared sharper, harsher, and so that his senses augmented. The sun had only just slipped below the horizon, but the sky was barely a royal blue, hinting at the sun still. Scenting the air, the vampire let himself peek out of the shadows and towards that horizion, peering at the thin line of light that shown like the crack beneath a door. The sunrise had slipped away before he had even woken, turned the deep purples of night before he had even ventured out of the abandoned warehouse.

A heartbeat drew the vampires attention; the sound came nearer, thumping in time with footfalls. Grinning wider, a pink tongue darted out, licking his fangs. Xander could already taste the blood, warm with life and fear.

Willow squinted down at the text, and then back up at Spike. Hesitation marred her face, but the look on his was far worse. She saw the pain strung there and turned back to the book.

"I need the vial," she said without looking up.

Spike moved carefully towards the witch, making sure not to step inside the alchemy circle or upset any of the hundred-odd candles scattered throughout the Magic Box.

"Really seems like a fire hazard, Red." Spike pressed the vial of his blood into Willows hand, "And us vampires being of the flammable variety doesn't exactly make this bit of the spell cozy."

Taking the vial, Willow popped the cap and knelt by the potion she had been working on earlier. Ready to pour the blood into the mix, she looked up at Spike as if having an after-thought. "You might want to back up,"

Spike did, and stifled a gasp as his blood hit the mix. Fog rolled in out of nowhere, streaming through the shop as though they were in the centre of a bog. Little lights shone in the distance, the candles, looking very much like bog-lights in the half dark. The stores walls and ceiling melted away into absolute darkness and Spike was left alone in a wide, empty darkness. The lights flickered near the edge of his vision, as Spike could stare at nothing more than what lay in the centre of the circle.

Willow stood tall, her skirts flapping around her as though caught up in a torrent. Hair streaming as the cloth, it tangled in her face, illuminated by the flame so that it looked near crimson. Willow had her gaze turned downward, and Spike could hear her chanting something faintly. All around her feet, the mist gathered and spun in that invisible torrent of air.

As though she were a puppet on a string, the witches head snapped up suddenly, neck making a harsh crack as it did so. She stared straight ahead, speaking as if to someone in the room. Spike thought at first it was him, but Willow was looking further away than he stood, beyond him into the bog lights.

"Death, Keeper of souls. I beseech you." the words rang, echoed as though they were in a room much larger, "You have taken one we wish to have returned, guardian. You have taken the soul of a friend without his final death. We come to collect that soul and return it to its keeper so that he might in a manner live."

She stopped, staring still as if waiting for an answer. A moment passed and Spike became restless, fidgiting where he stood, unsure of his part in this little play.

A glimmer caught his attention, one of the lights fluttering very far away. It seemed to pulse, in and out of intensity like a heartbeat. And as it beat, the light seemed to grow larger. No, it grew nearer. As the light came closer, Spike wanted to shrink back into the darkness. There was something odd about the light that the vampire couldn't place. Every instinct in him wanted to lash out at the light, hissing and tearing at it. He could contain himself, all but a low growl that rose without warning in his chest.

"Keeper of souls. I ask for your aid." Willow cried again, her voice powerful.

This time, she was answered. The light had neared so that it pulsed upon the edge of the circle, seemingly focused on the witch. The image of a woman appeared out of the brightness, almost as if she were made of flame. Yet, Spike could feel the chill that surrounded the image and he could spell the decay upon her.

"What is it you ask?" the woman asked in a smooth voice, words rising and falling as her image pulsed.

"A soul restoration." Willow stared straight at the vistage, her eyes black with magic, "We seek out the soul of a dead companion."

"I do not bring to life anyone," chided the figure, "You should know that better than anyone."

Willow looked as if she had been slapped in the face, and it took a moment for her to gather herself and continue. "Dead but not lifeless--"

"Ah, a vampire. How interesting," The woman appeared to be staring at Spike now, and even beyond the light, her features seemed to smirk, "Seeking out penance and humaity? Now that's a strange thing."

Spike broke from the womans gaze, though her eyes were not seen he could feel them boring into his flesh. "Got my soul 'ready," he mumbled, "Red's hoping to get back her friends I turned."

There was no sound for a long moment and then a sudden cackle like flames. Every one of the bog lights intensified suddenly, glowing stronger as the laughing bellowed. Spike thought that he could hear more laughing in the distance, but tried not to listen to it. Willow broke through the mania, her voice as strong as it had been through the initial incantation.

"We seek out the soul of a dead companion. We wish to restore his humanity this eve." She said quickly and then returned to silence as though waiting for a response.

The laughter quelled slowly, and the woman turned back to the witch. Lights in the distance returned to their regular flicker.

"I can return the soul, but there is a price to pay." the woman spoke, contained once more as if there had been no outburst, "He is no longer human, though I can give him humanity he must trade that with a daemonic aspect. I can give back the boys soul, but he cannot remain truly human."

Willow nodded, "We understand and accept, Keeper. His soul must be restored tonight. We ask for your aid in this matter and understand the trade--"

He could take it no longer, "What is the aspect?" Spike threw his words into the mix, startling Willow out of her rehearsed conversation, "What's going to happen to him?"

Without turning, the Keeper spoke, "His soul will be intact as well as all human memories, but he is human no longer. The boy will have to change in different ways, and as an agreement to letting his soul return, his physical vistage will have to be compromised. The boy's soul will be returned, but he will no longer appear fully human."

Spike was taken aback by the reply, but before he could say anything more, Willow broke through the silence.

"We agree to the terms, Keeper. We ask for safe return of Alexander's soul." Picking up the potion with Spikes blood, the witch held it out, towards the woman. The light flickered on as it neared, burning brighter. Reaching forward, the woman took the potion from Willow.

Turning her head back, the Keeper brought the potion to her mouth and drank quickly, leaving not even dampness in the little bowl that had held the potion.

"So you ask; so it is done." The Keepers edges blurred, as though she was turning from light to smoke. Her body drifted slightly, fading into the fog which drew itself quicklly away, back into the darkness. Lights all around them were snuffed out, until the witch and the vampire were left in total darkness. And then, that faded as well, until they stood -- as before -- in the shops center. Every candle had burnt out, all the way down to the wick.

Dawn walked quickly home, unsure of how she had lost track of time. She blamed the shoe store. That new pair of boots had captured her attention for a long half-hour and she was pretty sure now that anything open this late had to be of the evil-variety. Evil shoe stores were just another problem to add to the list.

The sun had gone down already, but it was still light enought out for her to see. That, and streetlights lined the road every twenty feet. It seemed like the good people of Sunnydale really were afraid of the dark (with good reason). Shadows cast by those lights were enlongated and strange, throwing odd patterns over the street and mixing with the images of lampposts themselves sent. Dawn shurgged, and stopped watching the shadows, paying more attention to her chiming cell.

Giggling, she stopped where she stood and replied quickly. Snapping the phone shut, Dawn could barely contain the bounce in her step. He had finally asked her out! They were finally really dating!

A light illuminated the streets as though the sun were setting again...as though it were rising right above where she stood. Everything was suddenly as bright as day, and as Dawn looked up, she saw a great white-hot ball rising into the for the source wildly, Dawn realized it really was the sun shining above! Yet, the orb glowed strangely bright, as though Dawn has stared at into the face of a light bulb right after waking. Squinting, she saw someone else in the new light.

"Xander!" the girl called, a slight quaver in her voice. She could see her friend standing next to one of the buildings nearby almost in the mouth of an alleyway, but he stood with his back turned to her as though he hadn't heard her calling. She tried again, but still Xander didn't move.

Running towards her friend, she reached for his shouder, trying to spin him around. Suddenly, Dawn was on the ground, back pressed into the hard asfalt. Her phoen skittered across the pavement, chiming a new text message.

Xander smirked wide, fangs dropping as he moved. His eyes glowed yellow, grinning down at her, and laughter followed. Xander threw back his head and howled.

"X-Xander?" she said in barely a whisper.

Head snapping back towards her, Xander grinned even wide, "Right here, Dawnie!" He licked his lips, "And it looks like you're right here too. Mind if I take a quick bite? Know how you always wanted me to notice you? Well here I am looking! "

Without waiting, Xander drove his fangs into the girls neck, drinking heartily. The light swelled all around them suddenly, swirling as if the sun had descended. Only, neither noticed the light or the slayer that approached until Buffy's fist made contact with Xanders face.

He was thrown off the smaller girl so quickly he tore a strip of flesh the size of a golf-ball with him. He didn't have time to do anything more than spit that out before the light made its final descent, glowing, pulsing and finally drawing itself inside of Xander. He cried out, entire body in agony as he burned from the inside. Xander fell to his knees, holding his chest as the pain focused there.

Buffy held her stake up, moving menacingly towards the screaming vampire. She stopped when Dawn called out. It was a harsh, garggled cry and Buffy saw now the wound at her sisters neck.

"Shit!" she dropped her stake and dropped next to her sister. Ripping off a part fo her sleeve, she held it against the wound, feeling the blood pulse there. Dawn looked up at her, eyes unfocused but coherant still.

"Xander," she rasped before dropping into her sisters arms. She was loosing blood but not as much as before. The vampire had missed a majour artary, but it was the girls neck all the same.

Buffy gathered the girl in her arms, looking wildly around for her friend. Dawn had said only his name, so it must be impoartant. He could have been attacked too! Buffy wanted to stake the vampire that had done this then and now, but her sister needed to get to a hospital before she lost any more blood.

"Just so you know," Buffy called over at the vampire, who had finally ceased writhing in agony, "You're going to die for this. Nobody hurts my sister or my friends. I'll kill you for this."

The vampires face turned, yellow eyes wet with tears. "B-buffy?" Xander managed, voice laddened still with pain.

The slayer gasped, nearly dropping Dawn when she saw her friends face. "No," Buffy whispered, her own voice heavy with pain.

"What-I don't feel--" Xander propped himself up, moving so that he stood, head bent still, focusing on his hands. The nails on his fingers were longer, pointed almost as if filed that way. The shown iridescent in the darkness, nearly white. He didn't seem to be listening, "No, didn't...no..." He whispered, hands balling into fists. Looking up at Buffy, she could see his face fully. He looked almost human except for his eyes -- yellow as if in Game Face -- and the fangs which were covered still in blood. Xander seemed to realize this, and reached up. His hand came away red, and at that the tears stopped. Looking absolutely broken, Xander stared straight into Buffy's eyes. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, and turned.  
Xander ran into the darkness until Buffy couldn't see even his shadow.


	11. Chapter 11: An Interlude

Title: The Last Sunrise

Author: Bells

Rating: T+ (for violence and language)

Summary:

Distribution: Do whatever you want with this piece of fiction! Remember, though, keep my name and tags on the fic best you can and link back to my account/livejournal (username: topsell) if you archive.

A/N: This is not a complete chapter, but a separation between segments of the fan-fiction. This Interlude can be looked at as a intermission. If you're reading this fic all at once, now would be the time to get up, grab a soda and some greece-laddened goodies before settling back down for a more Angst-riddled portion of our featured presentation. Upcoming chapters soon. Reviews are always welcome and often encourage chapters updates at sooner dates.

**An Interlude**

He sat in silence, not wanting to speak, not wanting to move. The silence was all that he could bear anymore. The silence was all he was worth.

A shadow of a man had been haunting the mansion for the past week, sweeping through the dim building like a shadow day and night. The neighbors, separated by sprawling California lawns, said nothing of the new inhabitance. They had experienced much worse with the old house and welcomed the shadow as if it weren't there at all.

It was on the ninth night that even the hardest of hearts could no longer ignore the mansion.

Like a crack, a howl rose through the evening air. It was a sound of pain, a wail that rose like smoke and kept on pouring into the sky until every star was blotted out. The scream was one of pain, and drew on and on long after any murder victim should have passed out.

Even after the screaming stopped, an echo was heard in the air. Residual pain drew itself over the neighborhood and it was all the people of Sunnydale could do to ignore it.

Still, something had to be done about the mansion...

----------------------------

"You did this to him?"

Spike was tied to a chair, head lulling to the side. The words were spoken as a question, but everyone knew -- including Buffy -- that there was nothing but certainty in what had happened to Xander.

"Tell me what you did!" she raised her fist. Spike didn't even have the energy to shrink back from the oncoming blow, just groaned low and let his head fall to the side completely. The fist that met his skull was a pounding pain, but after so long it was numb to him.

Far away, the vampire could hear Willow trying to reason with her former mentor, pleading with the librarian for Spikes sake. It drew a smile to his lips, but meant nothing. It didn't matter how much the little witch trusted him. Nobody trusted the witch anymore, so what good was her word?

And then there was Xander, his poor childe. Spike could feel the boy from far off, the draw of him still in the town. He had to get to him, had to help. But to do that, he would have to get out of Giles basement and to get out of that little predicament there was a slayer to get past. Buffy had refused to listen to reason, or anything that Spike had said in the days before, and resorted to her fists to try and pound answers out of the already injured vampire. It didn't matter that Spike had told her everything he knew about her old friend. No, what mattered is that she worked out her anger on his face.

Spike sighed and let the slayer finish her job. She was bound to get tired of smashing in his skull eventually...hopefully it was sooner other than later, because the pain radiating from the link between him and his childe was only growing.

Buffy set her eyes and growled another question, but Spike was already too far gone and didn't fight the blackness as it took him. Hopefully she would be gone when he woke up -- or at the very least a bit more sated.

---------------------------

Willow had tried to explain what had happened, why she hadn't uttered a word to any other Scoobie about their missing members whereabouts until well after he had tried to make dinner out of one of the crew. Goddess, it didn't matter anymore did it? They would never accept that there had been a good reason for Spike turning Xander. They would never accept that there had been no other choice other than letting their friend die. But, when she had said this, Giles only shook his head, sadly denying that anything had been saved.

"That...creature," he looked down, taking off his glasses and beginning to clean them vigorously, "Is not the boy you knew. When someone is turned, they may have the memories and the habits of the original host, but it will never be the same. A daemon changes someone in ways even a soul cannot fix."

"He's still Xander." Willow pleaded once again, certain that her point would fall on deaf ears regardless. In the distance, she could hear Buffy throwing another helping of questions at Spike. The questioning she had put the vampire through upon finding out about Xander had been nonstop. He had spent since that night tied to a chair in Giles basement. Her own accommodations were better but not y much. She would be spending day and night in her former father-figures guest room until this mess was ironed out.

Giles shook his head, putting his glasses back on. "Willow, I understand that, but when a demon enters a person there is something that can never be regained. They will never be human--"

"I know he's not human, but he's still Xander!" he voice almost broke, "He has Xanders memories, personality, passions and his soul! What more is there to a person than their soul!"

"This is not how he would have liked to be remembered. The Xander we knew -- christ, everything about the boys soul -- would cringe at the very thought of being a vampire! You know that better than anyone else, Willow! That's why I cannot understand how you could possiblly allow for William the Bloody to," Giles trailed off, looking sourly at the floor as if concentrating on the sounds from below. They had suddenly become much too quiet, "do what he did." he finished sternly, keeping his eyes averted. "If you really did succeed in giving back his soul, I cannot believe Xander would be anything more than horrified at what had happened to him. And he can't get away from that now.

"What I'm trying to say, WIllow, is that by bringing back his soul, Xanders humanity was condemned. When he does finally die -- as a demon -- everything about him, including his soul, will be hell-bound. Now we really can't save him," He trailed off, turning at the last minute to fake a cough. Willow could see the gleam of tears behind wire-rims.


End file.
